were approaching the Lebombo Range. Early one morning we were
astonished to find a tent-wagon standing in a somewhat thickly-wooded
hollow. Around it lay the putrefying carcases of several oxen. A few
low mounds were also visible. Under the wagon lay four white men in the
last stage of exhaustion from fever. All were raving in delirium.
There were no signs of water in the vicinity. The surrounding trees
were thickly encrusted with bright yellow lichen, which gave them a
ghastly and fever-stricken look.
We camped close to the spot, wondering what could be the explanation of
the strange phenomenon. Hours passed, but we could discover no clue.
The unhappy creatures under the wagon mowed at us and raved in French.
We gave them water, which they greedily drank. The stench was
frightful; the mounds we had noticed were human graves. But no
excavations had been made, the sand being simply heaped over the bodies.
Then a gigantic, bearded man emerged from the bush and approached,
carrying a small demijohn in each hand. I recognised him as one
Alexandre, a Frenchman I had known on the diamond fields. He explained
matters. The expedition, originally eight strong, had started from
Lydenburg some six weeks previously. The whole team of oxen succumbed
more quickly than usual to tsetse bite. All his companions went down
with fever. Three died and had been laid to their rest under the
mounds. But even there rest had been denied them, for the lions used to
come at night and tear open the graves; they had actually rooted out one
of the bodies. Owing to prodigality of ammunition when the big game was
most plentiful, only very few cartridges were left. Every night jackals
and hyenas used to snarl and fight over the carcases of the oxen, which
lay only a few yards from the wagon. But it was the lions that were the
chief source of terror. A lioness had carried off a dog from the
fireside immediately behind the wagon. As though aware of the
helplessness of the stricken party, the great brutes became bolder and
bolder, walking round and round the camp in an ever-narrowing circle.
All this was corroborated by the fact that not a hand's-breadth of
ground anywhere near the camp was without a lion's spoor. The nearest
water lay ten miles away, and to the spring Alexandre wended, with his
two demijohns, every day. We loaded the sick men up--leaving the wagon
in the waste like a stranded ship--and took them on to Delagoa Bay.
The road had been cut by the Transvaal authorities to near the inland
base of the Lebombo, and by the Portuguese to the seaward base. It fell
to our lot to clear a passage over the mountain itself. This entailed a
great deal of crowbar work, in rolling out of the way huge boulders. My
clearest remembrance in connection with the enterprise is of a scorpion
sting which I received in the hand.
We reached Lourenco Marques in due course. The inhabitants turned out
_en masse_ to meet us. For several miles along the road approaching the
town, the trees were loaded with children gaping in dumb curiosity. The
town lay between the bay and a crescent-shaped swamp. This was crossed
by several causeways. Between the swamp and the houses stood a
fortified wall, from which projected many poles bearing mouldering human
heads. The town was from the seaward side dominated by a wicked-looking
fortress.
The principal inhabitants appeared to be Banyans who, surrounded by
members of their dusky harems and clad in picturesque Eastern dress,
occupied the stoeps on the shady side of every street. All the houses
had closely latticed windows, but these were thrown open when the shades
of evening fell.
There was a very high time in the old town that night. Our party took
possession of the only hotel--a large, cool and comfortable house kept
by a Portuguese named Fernandez, who had an English wife. With our
arrival respectability fled shrieking from the premises. I trust I may
be acquitted of self-righteousness in recording the circumstance that I
was the only sober one among the strangers. We acted more or less like
an army which has taken a city by assault.
One of the larger stores stocked a quantity of obsolete fire brigade
uniforms. These, in most details suggestive of the burlesque stage,
included enormous helmets, which had massive burnished metal guards
extending down the wearer's back. Mild hints towards a realisation of
these monstrosities may be found in Flaxman's illustrations to the
Iliad. We dressed in the uniforms and proceeded to paint the settlement
red.
After dinner one of our braves staggered into the hotel dining-room,
carrying seven or eight rifles with fixed bayonets attached under one
arm, and a trembling Portuguese soldier under the other. This unhappy
being was summarily tried for attempted murder. In passing sentence of
death--and the address was punctuated by dabs with a full-cocked and
loaded revolver--the judge came crashing to the floor. The
marble-topped table on which he sat collapsed into utter ruin. The
sentence was to have been carried out at once, but a few of us, who
still retained some vestige of our senses, with difficulty succeeded in
getting an hour's reprieve to enable the culprit to prepare for
eternity. We led him out and let him escape. I shall never forget how
he sprinted down the street.
Later, Macpherson and I sallied forth in search of adventure. We
happened upon the Governor's residence. Here an archway led into a
small courtyard which was full of tropical plants. Another arched
doorway led from the courtyard into the house, and over the apex hung a
fine pair of koodoo horns. Two sentries paced the footway outside, but
we had slipped in before they realised our intentions--Macpherson
leading and I following, with misgivings, in his wake. When we looked
round, there stood the two sentries barring the way we had entered by
with fixed bayonets. Macpherson reached up, tore the koodoo horns from
the wall, placed the skull to his chest and charged with a terrible
yell. The sentries collapsed. One escaped; the other we captured and
put in a sentry box, which we turned over on him. We stuck the
bayoneted rifles into his Excellency's flower-beds and departed, leaving
the unhappy sentry a prone prisoner.
Next day the town was, except for ourselves, like a city of the dead.
All the shops were shut--not a soul appeared. The soldiers were shut up
in the fort, the cannon of which were trained on the streets. However,
some sort of order was restored, negotiations were opened, and it was
agreed that we were to load up the goods we had come to fetch early next
morning. This we accordingly did. Then we drew our wagons some few
miles out of town and held high wassail in the primeval bush.
Our wagons were almost entirely laden with gunpowder, and the loads were
light. The gunpowder was contained in 100-pound kegs. These last were
loosely built and hooped together with twigs. The explosive inside was
done up in 5-pound bags. We also had a mitrailleuse, which was drawn by
eight oxen. I well remember the name of this weapon, inscribed in large
letters on a thick copper plate. It was "Le General Schuler."
About three days' trek from the port lay the Mattol Marsh--a hideous
quagmire several hundred yards in width. On our forward journey we had
felled trees and laid a corduroy road over it. This the empty wagons
crossed with comparative ease, but now when loaded they broke it up with
dire results. The barrels had to be carried across. There was no
chance of a rest by the way as, on account of the gaping spaces between
the staves, the kegs could not be laid down in the mud even for an
instant. The bare recollection of that experience gives me toothache in
the atlas bone. Then the wagons had to be taken asunder and carried
across piecemeal, but this was not so bad, for we could take an
occasional rest.
The Mattol was, alas! not the only marsh we had to cross. Soon, from
much handling, the gunpowder barrels began to break up, and we had to
deal with the bags. Then these began to give way, and loose powder
permeated everything. We tasted it in our tea; we shook it out of our
kits when we unrolled them each night. Strict orders against smoking
anywhere near the wagons had been given, but no one, from the commander
down, paid the least attention to these. I have seen several men lying
on the ground smoking under a wagon, and when one climbed up to get his
kit, watched small trickles of powder fall among the smokers. Once a
grass fire swept towards us before a stiff breeze. We were then
outspanned at the Komati Drift. An order was passed round that when the
fire reached a certain point we were to leave the wagons to their fate
and take to the river. This, by the way, was full of crocodiles. But
suddenly the wind died away, so we rushed at the fire and beat it out
with our shirts. It was evident that the Fates were determined we were
not to be blown up.
Occasionally we trekked by moonlight. One night I was walking with two
others some distance in front of the leading wagon. We carried no
weapons. One man uttered a low "sh-h" and held up his hand. There, not
five yards away, were a lion and a lioness crouched flat in the roadway.
We stepped slowly backwards for about fifty yards and then stood not
upon the order of our going until we met the convoy.
One morning buffalo were reported close to the camp. I sprang from my
blankets and went after them. I wounded one badly and went on its
spoor. The sun began to decline, and I attempted to get back to the
wagons. But the country was flat and the trees stood high on every
side. Soon the terrible fact came home to me that I was lost.
I had neither eaten nor drunk since the previous evening. The day was
sultry; soon I began to suffer from raging thirst. I had only three
cartridges left, having expended the others on the wounded buffalo,
whose vanishing hindquarters had been my occasional target for several
hours. But my thirst became so furious that I determined to shoot some
animal and drink its blood. I reached a long and wide depression where
trees were few, but which was full of straggling patches of reeds.
Looking through one of the latter I became aware of several animals
moving to my left. I crept to the end of the reed-patch to intercept
them and--out stalked five lions. Two were full grown; three were cubs.
The old couple paced majestically away; the cubs squatted funnily on
their haunches and looked at me with quaint curiosity.
That night I perched in a tree, where I was driven from bough to bough
by predatory ants. When the sun arose I got my bearings roughly.
Fortunately the day was cool. Early in the afternoon I managed to
strike the trail of the wagons. After walking on it for about an hour,
I found I was going in the wrong direction. But I turned and staggered
along until about midnight, when I reached the camp. Here I narrowly
escaped being shot, for when the sentry challenged I could not answer,
my lips, tongue and throat being like crackling leather. Thus ended the
most horrible experience of my life.
We cached our cargo at Ship Mountain, having dug a pit for it in the dry
sand. The wagons were at once sent back to Delagoa with the fresh
spans. The cattle which had been through the fly country were left at
the cache. Six men of our party were put in charge. I happened to be
one of these.
Almost immediately the unhappy cattle began to die. Soon they lay in
heaps at a spot about a mile from the camp. Thither we used to drive
them when signs of collapse set in. It would, of course, have been far
more merciful to shoot them all at once, but this we were not permitted
to do.
At this bovine Golgotha congregated all the carnivora of the
neighbourhood. Lions, hyenas and jackals were always to be found. It
is popularly believed that lions will not eat carrion. This is a
mistake; I have seen them doing so and apparently enjoying themselves.
Our nights were made hideous by the hyenas, whose yell is surely one of
the most atrocious sounds in Nature's repertoire. Lions worried us
considerably. On dark nights they used to drink at, and befoul, a pool
within ten yards of our tent. There was no other water for many miles
around. One evening a runner with letters from Lydenburg was driven up
a tree by a lion within a couple of miles of our camp and kept a
prisoner until about eleven next forenoon.
I recall one trifling incident which left a very weird impression. One
very dark night we heard a far-off halloo. The surrounding country was
absolutely uninhabited--so far as human beings were concerned. The
source of the noise drew nearer and nearer, the halloo sounding at short
intervals. It was unmistakably a human voice. We made a roaring blaze,
shouted, waved firebrands and discharged guns. But the creature with
the human voice passed, I should say, about three hundred yards from us,
uttering its gruesome cry at intervals. Then the cry grew fainter and
fainter, until it died away in the distance. None of us slept a wink
that night.
In our charge were thirty donkeys. For these we built a high corral.
The country being full of game--and sick oxen--the lions never
interfered with these donkeys, although the spoors showed that they used
to prowl around the enclosure nearly every night, evidently meditating a
spring.
One day we saw a vast cloud of dust steadily approaching from the
distant south-west. There was not a breath of wind stirring. Then came
a sound like that of the sea. This swelled to a thunderous roar, and
soon we were surrounded by a mighty host of stampeding big game.
Buffalo, quagga, wildebeest, koodoo, hartebeest, and many other
varieties were jostling together and rushing wildly on. Occasionally
the long, swaying necks of a troop of giraffe would loom dimly above the
thronging mass. Had it not been for the fact that three big trees
shielded our tent, I firmly believe we would have been overwhelmed.
It took about twenty minutes for this hurricane to pass. Our thirty
donkeys had disappeared, carried along by the resistless flood. I found
two of these a couple of days afterwards, about ten miles away. The
others were seen no more. After the stampede not a single head of game
was to be found in the neighbourhood, so we were reduced for some time
to a diet of dried peas.
In due course the second convoy arrived from the Bay, and four wagons,
drawn by such of the oxen as were still fit to travel, were sent on to
Lydenburg. I accompanied these.
When we began to ascend the mountain spurs the nights turned bitterly
cold. We had desperately hard work, for the cattle became so weak that
we had to unload at nearly every donga. Being, as we thought, out of
the lion country, our vigilance at night was somewhat relaxed. We
posted only one sentry at a time, nor were large fires around the camp
any longer compulsory. Very early on the morning before we reached the
summit of the range I was on guard. Mine was the third watch, and my
two predecessors had so faked our only time-piece that my vigil had
lasted nearer six than the regulation three hours. One of the recovered
donkeys was tied to a bush about twelve feet from where I sat, vainly
endeavouring to warm my hands over a few dying embers. Just before
daybreak two lions sprang on the unhappy donkey. I heard the wretched
animal's bones crack. The lions dragged the carcase about fifty yards
away--into a thick bush--and there breakfasted at their leisure.
On our return to Lydenburg most of the members of the expedition were
paid off. We had lost only one man; he perished in a grass fire in the
low country.
I often wonder as to what has been the fate of my companions. Some few
I have heard of; only three have I since foregathered with. Two of the
latter I know to be dead. The others are--where?
My one-time comrades, I salute you--or your shades. Taking into account
the kind of men you were, the way you lived and moved and had your
being, and the fact that you were all so much older than I, few should,
in the natural course of events, be still alive. A short, but by no
means a merry, life is the usual lot of such as you. May your spirits
have found that rest which could never have been their portion on earth.
Vale!
CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
KAFFIR MUSIC.
If one were to ask the average inhabitant of South Africa whether the
Bantu tribes have any national music, the reply would almost surely be
in the negative. It is known that the mission-trained native sometimes
develops remarkable singing powers, and that he picks up part-music with
strange facility; but in his natural state the native is supposed only
to exercise his vocal powers in the "tshotsha," which is a lugubrious
sound generated deep down in the throat, and suggests a commingling of
the notes of the corn-crake with the noise made by the wind in streaming
over the open bunghole of an empty barrel.
Nevertheless, the Bantu possesses a music of his own; but this can only
be heard, as a rule, if one frequent the celebration of his tribal
ceremonies.
Many of the native songs and chants are very intricate compositions, in
which the different parts are adjusted to each other with ingenious
nicety. Such part-songs are probably extremely old, and have reached
their present development very gradually.
It is not, however, with these that this article will deal, but rather
with simple tunes which it has been found possible to note down as
opportunity offered. Such may be of interest for purposes of comparison
with the rudimentary music of other savage peoples.
The tunes given are mostly battle-songs, each probably struck out like a
spark upon the occasion of some great tribal emergency.
In giving the following specimens of tunes collected among the Hlubi
tribe, it may be of interest to indicate shortly, where possible, the
historical episode to which each relates. The Hlubi tribe was one of
the first to move in the great migration which took place from what is
now Natal, early in the present century, before the onslaught of Tshaka,
the Zulu king. The Hlubis were not, as a matter of fact, driven forth
by the Zulus, but by another tribe, the Amangwane, whose chief--
Matiwane, "the destroyer"--had evidently been incited by Tshaka to
declare war. They fled across the Drakensberg Mountains to what is now
the Orange Free State, and there led a life of continuous warfare for
ten or twelve years.
The Hlubi chief Umti'mkulu ("Big tree") was killed, with nearly all his
household. It was believed that not a single member survived.
Afterwards, however, it transpired that his great wife, with her infant
son, Langalibalele, ("The sun scorches.") had escaped. The latter
eventually died in exile, having rebelled against the British Government
in Natal in the early seventies.
Upon the death of Umti'mkulu, the chieftainship temporarily devolved
upon his nephew, Sidinane. This chief had a short and tragic career.
His memory is revered among the adherents of the "right-hand house" of
the Hlubi tribe, of which he was the head, and his pathetic story even
now brings tears to the eyes of the old men.
It appears that after the death of Umti'mkulu, the Hlubis for a long
time wandered about, in a great disorganised mob, over the wide plains
lying between the Vaal and Orange rivers. They were exposed to attacks
from the Zulus, the Matabele under Umzil'igazi, ("Bloody trail"--father
of Lo Bengula; usually called "Moselikatse") and the Amangwane under
Matiwane "the destroyer." A number had already submitted to the
Matabele chief, and been incorporated in his regiments. One night the
Hlubis were attacked by a Matabele force, but they scattered under cover
of the darkness, without making any resistance. Next morning they
opened negotiations with the Matabele induna, and eventually agreed to
submit to Umzil'igazi. The Matabele force was returning, laden with
booty, from a raid upon the Basuto. Messengers were despatched to
Umzil'igazi, informing him of the submission of the Hlubis, and asking
whether they were to be destroyed or spared. Umzil'igazi sent back a
message to say that the submission of the Hlubis was to be accepted, but
that Sidinane and every member of his family were to be killed. The
latter part of the message was supposed to be secret, but it was
communicated to Sidinane by one of the Hlubis belonging to the Matabele
force.
Sidinane was a young man; his family consisted of a wife and an infant
son. In the night he fled, accompanied by his wife and child, leaving
the tribe in charge of his younger brother Sondaba, who agreed to
personate him.
Sidinane fled to Swaziland. On the way his child died of the hardships
of the journey. He was kindly treated by the Swazi chief, but he could
not rest. He departed for Zululand, and went straight to Tshaka's
kraal. His wife refused to accompany him. Tshaka received him with
civility, and agreed to accept him as a vassal. An ox had just been
slaughtered, so Tshaka ordered Sidinane to skin it. Sidinane, after
indignantly refusing to perform such menial work, wandered forth once
more. We next hear of him as captured by the Amangwane, and brought
before the cruel Matiwane. Tradition states that he was put into an
enclosure in which a lot of bulls were fighting, and that he stilled
them with a word. This raised the jealous wrath of Matiwane, who at
once caused the captive to be strangled. The chief Zibi, who is at
present at the head of the right-hand house of the Hlubis, is looked
upon as Sidinane's son, but he is really the son of Sidinane's brother,
in terms of the practice as defined in the fifth verse of the
twenty-fifth chapter of Deuteronomy.
Sondaba found it impossible to keep up his impersonation of Sidinane.
Umzil'igazi, however, forgave him the deception, and located him at a
large military kraal which was situated about two days' journey from the
"Great Place," and was under the command of a favourite induna, or
general, called Soxokozela. Here he remained for upwards of a year.
Umzil'igazi sent for his new vassal. The great place of the Matabele
chief was close to the present site of Potchefstroom, in the Transvaal,
at a spot then called Ezinyosini, which means "the place of bees."
A great feast was held in honour of the guest.
When Sondaba was led before Umzil'igazi, the latter was struck by the
size of the young man's eyes, so he at once gave him the name of
Mehlomakulu ("Big eyes"). This name quite superseded the original
patronymic.
Mehlomakulu was of splendid physique, and had all the bearing of a chief
and a leader of men. Consequently he at once incurred the jealousy and
hatred of Umzil'igazi. The latter was particularly struck by the
superiority of his guest's dancing, as well as the clever way in which
he flung his club into the air in the course of the dance and caught it
again as it fell. The Matabele chief was heard to say, as he lifted his
head to follow the course of the club as it soared--"You are blinding
me--you are breaking my neck." The death of Mehlomakulu was determined
on, but he was allowed to return home in the meantime.
Shortly afterwards Mehlomakulu heard from a spy that he was to be killed
immediately--that an impi was even then assembling to fall upon him. He
thereupon called together his principal men in order to discuss the
situation.
A number of Soxokozela's soldiers had left the kraal to meet the
advancing impi. It was now only a question of hours: whatever was to be
done must be done quickly.
With tears and many protestations of sorrow, the majority of the Hlubi
councillors and headmen decided to leave their chief to his fate. "We
are tired of wandering," they said; "Umzil'igazi is strong and able to
protect us. Let Mehlomakulu go forth if he will; it is against him that
the hate of Umzil'igazi is hot. We have lived for years gathering roots
under the spears of Matiwane; we will now remain as subjects of the
chief of the Matabele."
While this was going on, an uncle and devoted adherent of Mehlomakulu
left the meeting quietly and assembled his followers. With these he
surrounded the kraal of Soxokozela, and killed the induna with every
member of his family. The killing party then hastened back, flung down
their blood-stained spears before the assembly, and told what they had
done. The matter was now plain and clear: they knew that the killing of
Soxokozela would never be forgiven by Umzil'igazi; that unless they fled
the lives of all would be sacrificed.
So the war-cry--a long "g" of the second line of the treble clef, which
is wailed out with piercing shrillness--was raised. All the other
Matabele within reach were killed, the cattle were quickly collected,
and the Hlubis fled to the eastward.
In commemoration of this episode the following song was composed by the
tribal bard:--
The words run as follows:--